Inheritance
by Crimson Idealist
Summary: What if the Halliwells had been brothers instead of sisters?  A Charmed genderbend.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: The concept of Charmed isn't mine. It and its characters belong to Constance M. Burge, Brad Kern, and Spelling Entertainment.

Author's Note: This is an AU version of the pilot, "Something Wicca This Way Comes," which was written by Constance M. Burge. Much of the dialogue was taken from that episode. This version asks the question, "What if the Halliwells had been brothers instead of sisters?"

Prologue – Andrea

Sirens pierced the rainy night as a crowd formed around the entrance to the apartment building. One or two of the curious tried to cross the yellow tape, but several police officers kept them from getting any farther. Shorter bystanders craned their necks, trying to get a good view of the crime scene. Crime rarely affected their part of San Francisco, and no one knew if it was robbery or, even worse, murder.

Inspector Andrea Trudeau scowled, pushing her way through the curious crowd. She hated this part of an investigation. It was one thing to deal with a corpse, but completely another to deal with a plethora of stupid questions, especially when she was in a neighborhood known for it's lack of crime. Clutching her umbrella, she weaved her way to the line. A tall officer held his hand up, palm out, stopping her in her tracks.

"I can't let you through, ma'am," he said.

She pulled her badge from her pocket and flashed it at him. "I believe I'm supposed to be here."

He quickly stepped aside and tipped his cap. "I'm sorry, Inspector, I didn't realize who you were."

"Don't worry about it. Most people don't," she said as she lowered her umbrella and crawled under the line. She waved off his comments without a second thought. At 5'3", most people didn't believe she was a police inspector.

Closing her umbrella, she entered the building and made her way to the open apartment. Officers and a forensic team filled the tiny space, offering very little walking room. Andrea searched the area until she found the man she was looking for.

Inspector Darryl Morris had been her partner for years now, and there was no one else she would trust with her life. He was a tall black man with a commanding presence, and at that moment, he was commanding a couple of green uniforms. The two young officers left as soon as she reached him.

"Problems, Morris?" she asked.

"New recruits not able to handle a dead body," he answered, looking down at her. "Where have you been? I paged you for over an hour."

Andrea shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Darryl believed in justice and in doing what he could to find it, but she wasn't sure he'd agree with her side trip before coming to the crime scene. She resisted the urge to twirl a strand of brown hair around her finger and met his dark brown eyes. She chose to ignore his question.

"What have we got?" she asked instead.

Darryl grimaced, but led the way through the busy apartment to the body. It was a young blond woman, wearing a black gown. She lay across an alter covered in candles and odd carvings. Blood pooled from her heart. Andrea stepped back and took a deep breath. No matter how many bodies she'd seen, it always managed to get to her. She focused on Darryl.

"A young female, 26, knife wound to the chest," Darryl said. "Body arranged on an alter."

Andrea remembered two crime scenes they had been to earlier in the week. "Like the man and the woman before her?"

"Right."

"Anything else?"

Darryl turned back to the body. "Like the other two, there was no sign of a struggle. She obviously knew her attacker."

Andrea was growing tired of this case. Three bodies, each found on an alter with a knife wound to the chest. No apparent motive for the deaths. She gritted her teeth. Whoever this bastard was, she wanted to find him and hurt him as badly as he had these people. Instead of focusing on the murder itself, she studied the alter and the tools surrounding it. It fit with her theory, and the lady at the shop had been informative enough to back it up. Darryl wasn't going to like this.

She crossed her arms. "I think I know why someone is killing these people. I've been doing a little research."

Darryl scowled. "Is that why you were late? When were you planning on sharing this information?"

Andrea turned away and glanced around the apartment. "You won't like it."

"Try me."

She turned to meet his dark eyes. "All three were found on an alter, and each was killed with an athame."

"Ha!" Darryl grinned as he pointed to the body. "She was killed with a double-edged knife."

Andrea nodded her head, her suspicion confirmed. "An athame. It's a double-edged knife used to direct energy."

Darryl raised his eyebrows. "Excuse me?"

"Look. All three of these people have a connection, Morris. I think all of them were witches. The killer is going after witches." Darryl didn't have to voice his question. Andrea saw it in his eyes. "I dropped by a magic shop on my way over here, and that's what the owner called the weapon."

Her partner's face fell. "Witches? Are you listening to yourself? You're starting to sound crazy. There's no such thing as witches, and besides, one of the victims was a man."

She shook her head. "It doesn't matter. Witches can be both male and female."

"No way." Darryl stalked away from the body. "I won't believe this."

Andrea closed her eyes. She didn't know why her hunch was so strong, but she wasn't about to ignore it. If she was right, and this killer was going after witches, they could predict his next move. They could stop him. All she had to do was convince Darryl to go with her on this. She cut in front of her partner.

"Darryl, do you believe in UFOs?"

Confusion crossed his face. "No."

"But you believe there are people who believe in UFOs."

"And I think they're crazy."

Andrea shrugged. "Then why can't you believe there are people who believe they're witches?"

Darryl threw his hands into the air. "Crazy people. I'm surrounded by crazy people." He took a deep breath and looked at her. "Witches?"

She firmly nodded. "Witches." She looked back at the body. "Regardless of whether they're real or not, someone obviously believes they are. And they're committing some very real murders to prove it."

As she turned to check another part of the apartment, a beautiful woman with dark hair stepped in her path. She pulled out a pen and a notepad, her dark eyes glistening. "Inspector Trudeau? Jenny Burns, The San Francisco Chronicle. You care to comment?"

Andrea narrowed her hazel eyes. "Someone was stabbed, plain and simple."

"Well, that's the third one in three weeks," Jenny chirped.

Andrea pushed passed her and made her way down the hall. "Could someone get this yahoo out of here?" she called, wondering how the reporter got inside. She shook her head. Some people didn't have any respect for the dead.


	2. Chapter 2

Part One – Philip

"Hey, buddy, here we are. That'll be thirty bucks."

Philip Halliwell peered at the large Victorian manor through the cab's rain-slicked window. His heart pounded in his chest. For twenty-two years it had been home, but not anymore. After months away, he felt like a stranger. Unfortunately, he had no where else to go. He'd lost both his job and his apartment in New York.

Would his older brothers be glad to see him? He wasn't worried about Parker, the one closest to his age. Family was always the most important thing to Parker, and he had been the one to tell him to come home, anyway. It was his oldest brother Paul he was worried about. They hadn't parted on the best of terms.

He gripped the door handle.

"Kid, you gonna get out or what?" the cab driver said.

Philip blinked. "Yeah, yeah, I am." He pushed open the door and climbed out. Fat drops of rain hit his skin, leaving a cold trail in their wake. He grabbed his duffel bag, throwing it onto his shoulder. Closing the cab door, he stared at the house once more. He took a shaky step forward.

"Hey! Thirty bucks, kid!"

"Oh, right." Philip turned back to the cabbie and smiled. "Let me get inside, and I'll get you the money. Wait right here."

No more stalling now. He sighed and dashed up the stairs. Once under the porch, he pushed his wet, dark hair out of his eyes and searched. He grinned when his fingers found the hide-a-key sitting under a dead potted plant. He couldn't blame Paul for predictability. He put the key in the lock, twisted, and opened the door.

The house hadn't changed since the day he moved out. The brown and tan patterned rug ran along the hardwood floor leading toward the dining room. The living room entrance was on the right while the stairs leading to the upper floors were on the left.

His brothers stood in the hallway under the broken chandelier. Both sets of eyes – one brown like his and the other green – fixed on him. Parker's face broke into a grin. Paul's face remained impassive. The two stood facing each other, and Philip felt like he had walked into the middle of an argument. Philip forced a bright smile.

"I'm home!" he called as he stepped through the doorway. "Miss me?"

Parker, the shorter one with the matching set of eyes, was the first one to move. "Philip, you made it." He reached his younger brother in three strides and pulled him into a one-armed hug. "How was your trip, man?" Philip returned the hug, but his eyes didn't move from the other man standing under the chandelier. In true Paul fashion, he hadn't forgiven and forgotten.

"You didn't tell Paul I was coming home, did you?" Philip asked Parker.

Parker stepped back, some of the over cheerfulness gone from his eyes. "If I had, he would have changed the locks."

The cab outside beeped its horn, breaking the tension. Philip wrenched his gaze away from Paul's and glanced at the door.

"Crap! I forgot about the cab," he muttered.

"No sweat. I'll get it." Parker grabbed a wallet off the side table by the door and walked outside.

"Parker, that's my wallet!" Philip turned back to see Paul's eyes blazing green. Yeah, this wasn't going to go well at all. With Parker out of the room, the tension grew so thick Philip could cut it with a knife.

Paul sighed and placed his hands in his pockets. He strode toward his youngest brother. It didn't matter Philip could now look him in the eye, he still felt like Paul could tower over him. Paul's hands never left his pockets, and his eyes kept their hard look.

"We're not selling Gramp's house," he said, leaving the unspoken threat hanging. i You can screw up all you want, but you're not screwing up this. /i 

Philip's fingers curled into tight fists as he tried to match the strength his brother exuded. "Is that why you think I came back?"

Paul's gaze was pure steel. "The only reason Parker and I gave up our apartments and moved back in is because this house has been in our family for generations."

Philip stepped back, raising his hands palms out. "Dude, no history lesson needed. I grew up here, too." Deep down, Philip suspected the house wasn't the root of Paul's anger. They hadn't parted on the best of terms simply because a woman spread a few lies. Philip needed to know the truth so he waited a beat, weighing his chances of getting away if Paul started throwing punches. "You still mad at me about Rhonda?"

"Excuse me?" Paul's jaw twitched. Apparently Philip's guess had been correct.

Philip refused to fold. "I don't know what that bitch told you, but I never touched her."

He heard the door creak open behind him as Parker returned to the house. He didn't look away from Paul, though. It was survival of the fittest; the weakest would look away first. Parker's shoes squeaked on the floor, and within minutes, his lean frame stepped in between them. He ran a hand through his dark hair, shaking the rain from it.

"You know, I could start some dinner. Who wants to eat?" he piped up.

Paul moved first, heading for the living room. "I'm not hungry."

Philip adjusted his bag and met Parker's eyes. "I ate on the bus." He then climbed the stairs to his room.

Setting his bag on the bed, Philip took in the room surrounding him. It resembled a hotel room, sterile in its appearance. The walls still had the brown wallpaper on the walls, but none of the posters he had left behind. He wasn't surprised. Paul probably decided to throw all of his things away the minute he left. Philip ran a hand over the headboard of the brass bed and smiled. Regardless, it was good to be home.

When he had taken off for New York after his grandfather's death, Philip didn't have a clue what he wanted to do. He was twenty-two years old and hadn't worked a day in his life. Within the span of a month, he'd slaved away as a retail clerk, a dog walker, and anything else the temp agency could find him. He didn't land something permanent until he became a Central Park carriage driver. He had been good at it. Then a strange guy spooked his horse and he lost his temper. All of a sudden, he was unemployed and headed back to San Francisco.

He shook his head. All of that was in the past. Now it was time to start making a new life for himself. He wasn't going to worry about the changes in his room or the mistakes he had made. Philip was a new person, and he was determined to show his brothers he was no longer the screw-up they thought he was.

Thirty minutes later, the heavenly smell of food floated in through Philip's open bedroom door. His stomach grumbled in response. Smiling, he stood up and pulled on a white T-shirt. Leave it to Parker to know he was lying about eating earlier. He quietly crept down the stairs, keeping an eye out for any sign of Paul. He stopped in the kitchen doorway, breathing in the scent.

"Is that fried chicken I smell?" Philip asked.

Parker leaned against the sink, grinning. "You always could tell when someone was cooking. Have at it, man. You know me; I always make too much."

Philip didn't have to be asked twice. He grabbed a plate and loaded it with three pieces. Collecting a drink to go with it, he carried his spoils to the living room and flipped on the television. He plopped in a chair, listening to a news reporter drone on about a murder which happened earlier in the evening. Parker came around the corner and joined him. Philip noticed his eyes light up when he saw the reporter.

"Hey, that's my girl," Parker grinned.

Philip raised an eyebrow. "That's Jenny?"

"Yeah, that's Jenny."

Philip studied the gorgeous brunette with the wispy hair and the round breasts. "Score! How did you pick up a chick like that?"

Parker took a bite out of a chicken leg. "Actually, she picked me up. We met while Gramps was in the hospital. She offered to buy me a cup of coffee and we started talking."

"Well done."

The two men ate as Philip found the remote and started flipping through channels. He finally settled on something when lightening flashed through the windows and snow filled the TV screen.

"Damn," Philip muttered as he tossed the remote onto the coffee table.

Bored, he let his eyes wander around the room until they landed on the wooden board sitting on a side table by the window. He set his plate down, stood up, and made his way over to it.

"Hey, Park, is this Dad's old spirit board?" he asked.

"Yeah, I found it in the basement the other day."

Philip moved the pointer and flipped the board over. "To my boys," he read. "May this give you the light to see in the dark. The Power of Three will set you free. Love, Dad." He turned to Parker. "We never did find out what the inscription meant."

"No, or why Dad even had it."

Still carrying the board, Philip headed back to his seat. "Why don't we play with it for old time's sake?"

Parker set his plate on the coffee table. "You're kidding, right?"

"No way. It could be fun." Philip set the board in the middle of the table. He put the pointer on the board and placed his fingertips on it. "Come on, Park, ask it a question." Outside, lightening lit up the sky followed by a loud clap of thunder.

Parker wiped his hands on his dark pajama pants. "I feel so stupid." He placed his fingertips on the pointer. "Will Paul have sex with someone other than himself this year?"

"That's disgusting, and I don't think I really want to know the answer to that." Philip gave the pointer a little push toward the "No".

"Ah, man, you're pushing the pointer again," Parker grumbled. He let go and picked up his empty plate.

"I am not," Philip protested.

Parker headed for the kitchen, calling back, "Dude, you always pushed the pointer."

Philip let go of it and sat back. "Did not," he mumbled.

At that moment, the pointer shot to the "A", then slid to the "T" before moving back to the middle all by itself. Philip jumped out of his seat. "Parker! Get in here!"

"What?"

Philip turned and met Parker's eyes. "It moved."

"That's because you moved it, Phil." Paul emerged from the dark foyer and stood behind Parker. "You always pushed the pointer."

Philip held his hands up. "I didn't touch it, I swear! It moved on its own."

Paul rolled his eyes and walked away. Parker crossed the room, heading for his seat. Philip turned back to the spirit board. As before, the pointer slid from its position, but this time it landed on the "T" again. Philip looked at his brother, who was standing with his eyes as big as saucers.

"Tell me you saw that," Philip demanded.

"Hey, Paul, get in here!" Parker called.

Philip heard Paul's heavy footfalls echo across the hardwood floor of the hallway as he searched the room for a piece of paper and a pen. He smiled when he found some by the phone. Practical Paul. He grabbed them and trained his eyes on the spirit board.

"Park, he's playing a joke on us," Paul replied with a sigh.

"No way, man. Philip can do many things, but moving a spirit board pointer without touching is not one of them."

Before Paul could respond, the spirit board pointer sprang to life again, sailing to the "I" and settling on the "C". It then surfed back to its beginning position. Philip scribbled down all the letters. Setting the pen down, he held the piece of paper up to his brothers.

"Attic. It wants us to go to the attic," he announced, his voice growing excited.

A flash of lightening illuminated the room followed by a heavy clap of thunder. Then all the lights went out.

"Great! First, the chandelier doesn't work, then, Philip comes home, and now this!" Paul yelled.

Philip threw down the sheet of paper. "You want a piece of me? Let's go. Right here. Right now." He couldn't see a damn thing, but he heard Paul's shoes step around the coffee table.

"If I could see, I'd kick your ass." Paul's voice was closer and full of menace.

"Guys, we need to get the lights back on." Parker's calm voice broke the stand off. "Philip, I need you to hold the flashlight while I fix the generator."

Philip felt his way around the coffee table. "Get Paul to do it. I'm going to check out the attic." He felt his way down the hall, knocking into a side table. Hissing against the pain, he found the kitchen and fished out a flashlight. He flipped it on and followed the small circle of light back to the stairs. He pointed the light at his brothers.

"You guys coming?" he asked.

"Phil, we haven't been able to get the attic door open for months. What makes you think you can?" Paul glared at him.

Philip gestured at the living room. "Ask the spirit board." Without waiting for a response, he stomped up the stairs.

He slowed when he reached the second floor. The stairs to the attic loomed at the end of the carpeted hall. Doubt crept into his gut. What was waiting for him up there? Was anything up there? As far back as he could remember, his grandfather wouldn't let any of them go near the attic. "A lot of dangerous things are up there," he had said. It was enough to keep Philip away.

But now, curiosity had the best of him. He had to know why the spirit board had spelled out "ATTIC." Taking a deep breath, he started down the hall. He placed a hand on the railing and climbed the creaky stairs to the third floor. The wooden door to the attic greeted him at the top. Reaching the door, he took the knob with a shaky hand. He closed his fingers around the cold brass, turning it. Nothing happened. The knob wouldn't budge. Frustrated, Philip hit the door with all of his weight. Nothing.

His shoulders slumped. All that build-up for nothing? Hell. He turned away, his head hanging down. Maybe the spirit board had been his imagination? But his brothers had seen it move, too. What was going on?

No sooner had he taken a step than he heard a loud creak behind him. Philip turned to see the attic door swing open all by itself. He trained his light on it and froze.

"What the hell?" he muttered.

He gingerly stepped into the attic. Old toys, furniture, and other broken things surrounded the vast room. A large bay window dominated the wall across from the door. Philip turned a full circle, taking in his surroundings. He then heard another creak. He whirled around to see an old trunk sitting wide open. He walked to it and crouched down. He peered inside. A large, dusty book with a three oblong shapes linked together drawn on it sat inside of it. Enthralled, Philip set down the flashlight and pulled out the book. He blew the dust off it.

"The Book of Shadows?" he whispered.

He sat down, placing the large book on his lap. Taking up his flashlight, he opened the book. Beautiful, ornate writing decorated the yellowing page. He flipped a couple of pages, his eyes scanning the words, taking note of the mentions of "midnight," "the full moon," and "magic." He eventually landed on something resembling a poem. He swallowed, nerves dancing in his stomach.

"Hear now the words of the witches," he read, his voice echoing in the empty attic. "The secrets we hid in the night, the oldest of Gods are invoked here, the great work of magic is sought. In this night and in this hour, I'll call upon the ancient power, bring your powers to we brothers three, we want the power, give us the power."

A breeze swirled around him, ruffling the pages. It lasted for a moment, then died down. Philip waited for a beat. Nothing. He scanned the attic. It didn't look different. He looked down at himself. He didn't feel different. Did anything happen?

"What are you doing?" Paul's sharp voice echoed off the walls.

Philip jumped to his feet, nearly dropping the book. He recovered it as he looked at his brothers. "Uh, reading an incantation." He held up the book. "It was in this Book of Shadows." He pointed at the trunk. "I found it in there."

Parker came into the room behind Paul. "How did you get in here?"

"The door opened." Philip shrugged.

Parker eyes widened as he moved in between his brothers. "It just...opened?"

Paul didn't give Philip a chance to respond. "Wait a minute. An incantation? What incantation?" He ripped the large book out of his youngest brother's hands and glared at the cover.

Philip couldn't stop the excitement in his voice. He told his brothers everything, from entering the room to reading the spell. What if the book was real? What if the three of them had powers they didn't even know they had. If so, it meant he wouldn't be a nobody anymore. He could do something important, something to finally earn Paul's respect. "If there was a ever a time to do this, it would be now," he finished.

"Do what?" Parker asked slowly.

A smile split across Philip's face. "Receive our powers."

Parker and Paul stared at him with matching bewildered expressions, neither of them blinking. Philip's excitement withered and died in the pit of his stomach. Both of his older brothers must have thought he was crazy.

Parker was the first to break the silence. "Powers? What powers? You included me in this?"

"He included all of us." Paul flipped open the book and peered at the spell. "'Bring your powers to we brothers three.'" He slammed it shut, his eyes blazing. "This is a book of witchcraft."

Confusion crossed Parker's face. "What would Gramps be doing with a book of witchcraft?"

Paul glared at Philip. "Because it wasn't his." He shoved the book into Philip's stomach. Philip doubled over, dropping the book to the floor. "Don't you get it? This is some elaborate joke Phil cooked up."

Philip's head snapped up. "Oh, yeah, I had time to rig something to make the pointer move, then put together this book. Oh, and don't forget the conversation I had with the storm outside." He balled his fist and pounded it into Paul's jaw. Paul reeled back, taken off balance by the blow.

Parker forced his way between them. "Guys, you want to pound each other into the ground, fine, but not up here." He set his jaw. "Phil, maybe you should stay out of Paul's way for a while." He then rounded on Paul. "And maybe you should get over this grudge you have with Philip." He looked from one to the other. "Besides, nothing happened, right, Phil?"

Philip narrowed his eyes. "My head spun around and I vomited split-pea soup. How should I know?" Parker's jaw twitched. Philip sighed. "Nothing happened."

"Good." Parker headed for the door. "Let's get out of here so you guys can beat each other up where you won't break anything."

Still clutching his jaw, Paul stalked out of the room, followed by Parker.

Philip winced and stood up straight. He picked up the book and opened it. He didn't care what his brothers thought. He hadn't planted the book or pushed the pointer on the spirit board. Something freaky was going on, and he intended to find out. Holding the book with both hands, he walked out of the attic and downstairs.

No one believed him. The next morning, Philip tried to talk to both of his brothers. Paul barely looked at him as he rushed out the door to work. Parker listened as he packed his jeep with the things he needed for his restaurant job interview, but Philip could tell he didn't believe a word of it. Frustrated, Philip gave up and turned his attention to other matters.

After a quick shower, he sauntered out to the garage, hoping the object of his affections would still be there. Much to his surprise, she sat right where he'd left her – his beloved motorcycle. She hadn't run in two years, but Philip didn't care. Working on her always gave him time to think, and he had plenty of thoughts he needed to sort out.

He pulled out into the drive way, the sun warm on his back. He propped the motorcycle, and then grabbed a tool box from the shelf in the back of the garage. Settling down on the pavement, he went to work.

His homecoming hadn't worked out like he planned. He hadn't expected Paul to welcome him back with open arms, but he hoped his brother's ire had lessened over the past year. Paul, however, was as mad as he had ever been. Whatever Rhonda had done or said, it was enough to keep him permanently pissed off.

Then there was the stuff with the spirit board, the attic, and the book of witchcraft. Why did his grandfather have a book of witchcraft in the attic anyway? As far back as he could remember, Gramps was a conservative old grump. He had been strict and tough, but Philip never remembered seeing him do any magic. Philip couldn't remember his father. He had drowned when Philip was only three.

Philip's thoughts circled around to the things he read the night before. Unable to sleep, he had crept into the living room and read the entire book from cover to cover. Not only did it contain spells on its torn, yellowed pages, but it had family history and drawings of monsters and demons.

The book mentioned an ancestor named Warren Halliwell, who had died during the Salem witchcraft trials. He had three abilities – the power to move things with his mind, the power to freeze time, and the ability to see the future. Variations of these powers supposedly ran through the male line of the Halliwell family, but it didn't say who had what. Warren's last words before he was hanged were that each generation of his family would grow stronger until three brothers arrived. These three would be called the Charmed Ones and would be the greatest power for good on Earth.

Philip chuckled as he worked. The Charmed Ones. The greatest power for good. He loved the idea of it. Maybe he, Paul, and Parker were these Charmed Ones? It would give his life some meaning. He shook his head. While the family tree he found proved he and his brothers descended from this Warren Halliwell, it didn't prove they had these powers. In fact, nothing magical had happened to him all day.

He sat up and wiped his brow. Hearing voices, he glanced down the street and saw a group of kids skateboarding towards him. He smiled, remembering how he used to tear up the asphalt with his board. As he returned his attention to the motorcycle, one of the skateboards hit him on the knee.

"Hey, mister, sorry about that!" one of the kids called.

"Not a problem!" Philip replied.

He set down his tools and picked up the board. At that moment, he couldn't see the board, the boys, or his motorcycle anymore. Instead he saw the boys riding their boards down the street. One of them wasn't paying attention. When he turned to do a trick, a car crested the hill and hit the boy. The vision vanished as quickly as it had come and Philip could see the board in his hands once more.

"Mister? You all right?" The kid was staring at him expectantly.

Philip shook his head, trying to clear it. He handed the skateboard to the kid. "Yeah, yeah, sorry."

The kid shrugged it off and ran back to his buddies. Philip refused to let the kid out of his sight. He stood and watched the little group run to the top of the hill. All of them hopped onto their skateboards and started doing the tricks he had seen. Philip's heart jumped into his throat and he took off after them.

"Wait! Hey, guys!"

The car cruised over the hill, exactly as he had seen it. The kid started into the road, not paying a bit of attention. Philip flew into the road and shoved the kid out of harm's way. He wasn't fast enough. The car plowed into him, sending him sprawling onto the pavement. Then it all went black.


	3. Chapter 3

Part Two – Paul

Nothing was going his way. Not one blessed thing. He was late, he couldn't find his car keys, and to top it all off, he had to deal with his baby brother.

"But, Paul, I swear this is real," Philip had said, flipping open the dusty, old book. "We could be these Charmed Ones it keeps talking about."

Paul had only rolled his eyes and smacked the morning's newspaper onto the table. "Check out the want ads, Phil. If you're going to stay here, you need to pull your own weight."

"You never believe me, man," Philip spat.

Paul sighed as he'd watched his youngest brother stalk off into the living room.

Philip. What was he going to do with Philip? Part of him wanted to protect him like he did when they were younger. But the other half of him was still furious with the boy over his tryst with Rhonda. Paul closed his eyes and clutched the steering wheel. He didn't want to recall that memory, but it came to the surface anyway.

A year and a half ago, Paul and Rhonda were in the middle of planning their wedding. She had the dress all picked out, and he had the honeymoon destination ready to go. It didn't matter she was his boss. All that mattered was she loved him. He was so convinced she did. Then Philip had the brilliant idea to go talk to her. He had protested that if she was going to be his sister-in-law, he had to get to know her. Parker was supposed to go with him, but something had come up with Gramps. Later that night, Philip had stormed into the house, declaring Rhonda was a slut and Paul shouldn't marry her. The next day, Paul asked her about the meeting. She burst into tears, claiming Philip had his hands all over her. God help him, he believed Rhonda over his own brother.

Now he didn't know what to think. A week later, he had caught Rhonda in the workroom with her skirt above her head, and an intern kissing places he shouldn't be kissing. He had broken it off then and there. Deep down, Paul knew Philip had told the truth, but pride wouldn't let him accept it. It still wouldn't.

And now Philip had come home and was insisting he, Parker, and Paul were some kind of superheroes. Paul rolled his eyes, turning into the parking lot. When would Philip grow up and face the real world?

Paul pulled into a parking space at Buckland's Auction House and prepared for the day ahead. If he was lucky, he wouldn't run into Rhonda at all.

The moment he entered his office, he knew he wasn't lucky. Not today.

Rhonda was perched on the edge of his desk, her legs crossed provocatively. Her brown hair fell in waves passed her shoulders, and her dark eyes twinkled when she saw him.

"Paul, darling! You and I need to talk about the Beals expedition," she purred.

Paul left the door wide open as he came inside. He strolled past Rhonda without glancing her way. Setting his briefcase down, he turned and finally acknowledged her existence. "Don't you have your own office, Ms. Pierce?"

Rhonda slid across his desk and took the end of his tie in her hands. "Ooh, I love it when you call me Ms. Pierce." She leaned into his ear. "It makes me feel naughty."

Paul jerked away, taking a step back. "What about the Beals expedition?"

"Well, the extra money you helped raise sparked significant corporate interest." She hopped off the desk. "The Beals artifacts will now become a permanent part of our collection."

"That's terrific!" Paul replied, a smile spreading across his face. Could this be it? The big break to boost his career? With this acquisition under his belt, he might actually move up in the company and be free of Rhonda. One could only hope.

Rhonda placed her hands on his desk, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Which is why the board wants someone a little more qualified to handle the collection from now on."

Paul's heart stopped. "Someone meaning you?"

Rhonda giggled. "You look surprised."

Strange, he didn't feel surprised. Instead, a ball of rage formed in the pit of Paul's stomach, threatening to pour out if he didn't keep it down. He wanted to hurt something, break something. His hands clenched into fists. For a split second, he thought he heard the window behind him rattle.

"I've been in on this project since its inception!" He spat. "I'm the curator who secured the entire exhibition."

"I could hardly say no to the board of directors, could I?" Rhonda crossed her arms, a satisfied smirk on her face.

Paul leaned on his desk. He couldn't face this woman any longer. All he could see was red. Was it his imagination or was the desk beneath his fingers shaking. He closed his eyes and willed his temper to calm. He didn't need this, not after everything else that happened. He took a deep breath and met Rhonda's eyes. The desk stopped shaking.

He simply said, "I quit."

Straightening, he grabbed his suitcase and started for the door.

"What?" Rhonda raced after him, intercepting him at the door. "Think about this, Paul."

Paul smiled. "Lousy job, lousy pay, lousy boss. What's to think about?" He tried to step around her, but she placed both hands on either side of the door and blocked his path.

"You walk out that door, you can kiss any references..." she started.

Paul bent down, almost touching her nose. "Are you threatening me?" he asked calmly.

Rhonda let out a nervous giggle. "You know me. I had to try." Paul didn't answer. Rhonda rambled on. "You see, I had to take that exhibit away from you. If I hadn't, the board would have put a total stranger in my place." She lowered her arms and stepped forward. She then placed a hand on his chest. "Think about it, Paul. I'm here for you, not some stranger. You should be thanking me, not leaving me.

Paul moved Rhonda out of his way and walked into the hall. Smiling, he turned to face her. Seeing her face glow red with anger gave him a warm feeling inside.

"I'm not worried. I'm sure your intellect will make quick work of the seventy-five computer discs and thousands of pages of research I left in my office." With that, Paul turned and started down the hall.

"You're going to regret this!" Rhonda yelled.

"Oh, I don't think so," Paul answered. As he cut the corner, he could have sworn he heard a door slam and Rhonda yelp in pain.

Making his way to the elevator, Paul couldn't stop the smile from spreading across his face. A weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He felt freer than he had in months. Hell, he felt like he could skip out of that building. True, he was going to have to find a new job and fast, but for now, he was going to enjoy his victory.

The elevator ride was quick. Paul swung his briefcase as he headed to his car. He whistled a happy tune as he reached the driver's side door. He was so happy he almost missed the shrill ring of his cell phone.

Flipping it open, he crowed into the mouthpiece, "Hello?"

"Paul Halliwell?" The seriousness of the voice broke through his euphoria.

"Yes?"

"Your brother, Philip, has been in an accident."

Paul's heart beat in quick succession as he sprinted into the hospital. He didn't know how he had gotten there so fast. He only knew it seemed his car had a mind of its own. He had willed it to go faster, and it had.

Nothing could happen to Philip. Nothing. Grudge and sibling rivalries aside, he'd never forgive himself if something happened to his youngest brother. He had promised to protect both Parker and Philip when their father died and their mother left. He might have made it when he was eight, but he took it very seriously. The voice on the phone had said Philip would be all right, but Paul wouldn't believe that until he saw his brother himself.

He pounced onto the front desk. "I'm looking for my brother, Philip Halliwell?"

The bored nurse glanced at him. "One moment." She then turned back to the small female she had been speaking to. "What's the name again?"

"Inspector Andrea Trudeau. Homicide. Dr. Gordon is expecting me."

For the first time since he'd gotten there, Paul took a good look at the brunette standing next to him. Her hair was longer and her eyes weren't as bright, but he couldn't mistake the cheerleader he had lost his heart to. He inched closer to her. "Andi?"

She met his eyes and he felt his heart do a flip. "Paul? I don't believe it. How are you?" Her smile lit up the room.

"I'm good. How are you?"

"Fine. I can't believe I'm running into you."

Paul swallowed nervously. "Yeah, I'm picking up Philip. He had some kind of accident."

Concern crossed Andrea's pretty features. "Is he all right?"

"I hope so. They haven't told me anything yet," Paul replied, glancing hopefully at the nurse. He turned back to her. "What are you doing here?"

"Murder investigation."

The words settled heavily in the air. Paul shifted a little, not sure how he should respond to that.

At that moment, the nurse caught his attention. "Your brother's still in x-ray so it'll be another fifteen minutes." She then looked at Andrea. "Dr. Gordon's office is to the left and down the hall. He's with a patient right now but you're free to wait outside his office."

Both of them thanked the nurse and exchanged a grin with each other. Then Andrea held out her hand.

"Well, it was good seeing you, Paul," she said as she shook his hand and turned to go.

Something tightened in Paul's gut. He let her get away once, maybe he shouldn't let her go so soon. He touched her shoulder and she turned around. He smiled again.

"You know, Philip's busy, Dr. Gordon's busy. Can I buy you a black cup of coffee while we wait?" he asked.

Andrea's smile returned. "Sure."

The two of them walked over to the coffee machine. Paul grabbed two Styrofoam cups and filled them with coffee. Handing one to Andrea, he cocked his head to the side.

"So, you're an inspector now?"

She took a sip of her coffee and made a face. "What can I say? In any other city I'd be called a detective."

"Inspector's classier." They sauntered to the large windows at the far end of the room. Paul sipped his coffee and discovered why Andrea had made the face. It was more bitter than he liked, but he didn't expect much from a hospital waiting room. Paul continued, "Your dad must be proud."

"Third generation. Even though I'm not the son he wanted, he's still thrilled his little girl is cleaning up the mean streets of San Francisco." Andrea tossed her hair over her shoulder. "How about you? You taking the world by storm?"

Paul blushed and looked down at his stale coffee. "I'm living back at Gramp's house, and as of an hour ago, looking for work." He turned up the cup and forced the rest of the sludge down his throat.

"Oh." Andrea stared out the window, sipping on her own cup of sludge.

Paul tossed his empty cup into the nearest wastebasket. "I heard you moved to Portland," he said.

"I'm back." She then met his eyes. Paul let out a mental sigh. After ten years he could still get lost in those hazel depths. "So, uh, you still seeing Rhonda?"

The question caught him off guard. "How did you know about her?"

She shrugged and turned back to the window. "I know people."

"You checked up on me?" He leaned against the window.

She looked at him, her eyes sparkling. "I wouldn't call it that."

"What would you call it?" His voice sounded stern, but deep down inside, Paul was thrilled. Andrea was still interested?

"Inquiring minds want to know." She finished off her coffee and chucked her cup. "What can I say? I'm a detective."

Paul prepared to answer when the nurse interrupted him. "Sir, your brother is ready."

He nodded his thanks and looked at Andrea again. "I've gotta go. And to answer your question, Rhonda's out of the picture."

"Good." She nodded her head and headed down the opposite hall.

"Wait, that's it?" Paul called after her.

She glanced over her shoulder. "I'll see you later, Paul. Tell Philip I said hi." With that, she disappeared around the corner.

Paul sighed and headed for the desk. Women!

"The Charmed Ones? Three brothers with the power to protect the innocent?" Paul peered at Philip over his beer. "Are you sure you didn't hit your head any harder?"

The bar had been Philip's idea since they had to wait for his prescription anyway. It had been a long day so Paul didn't argue. Once they sat down, Philip told him everything from Warren Halliwell to the Charmed Ones to his vision. Paul absorbed the whole story without comment.

Philip leaned against the bar, his hands wrapped around a cup of coffee. "Are you telling me nothing strange happened to you today? You didn't freeze time or move anything?"

"Rhonda took an exhibit away from me." He sipped his beer. "Question is, why do you believe this?"

"Why not?" Philip's brown eyes lit up. "It gives us a purpose. Something important to do. We're like superheroes, man." He met his brother's eyes. "I saved that kid today."

"It was stupid throwing yourself in front of a moving vehicle, but you did seem to have a good reason." Paul chuckled. "Although, it is pretty ironic you think you can see the future."

Philip sipped his cup of coffee and narrowed his eyes. "Why? Because you don't think I have one compared to your perfect hell?"

"Phil, I didn't mean it like that."

Philip stared at the murky blackness of his drink. "Can't you trust me for once?"

Paul sighed. He had to admit the man sitting next to him wasn't the same one who ran off to New York, with visions of freedom and finding their absent mother in his head. No, this one was a little less reckless and a little more responsible. The old Philip would have never sacrificed himself for a kid on a skateboard. Paul patted him on the back.

"I'll try, but man, I don't have special powers, and neither do you."

Philip looked up, searching the table. He spotted something at the far end and smiled. "Could you hand me that cream?"

"Sure." Paul leaned over, but couldn't reach it at all. He was about to stand up when the cream slid across the bar and into his open hand. Paul felt his jaw drop. "What the hell?" He held the cream for a while, staring at it, before he passed it to Philip.

Philip's grin grew wider. "That looked pretty special to me."

Paul looked at his beer in stunned silence. He didn't do that. He couldn't have. It was impossible. What if he tried again? He narrowed his eyes, concentrating on his own glass. It slid a couple of inches to the left. His head snapped up and he turned his glare on his brother.

"I can move things with my mind?" he asked.

It was Philip's turn to pat him on the back. "With what you hold inside, you're probably a lethal weapon by now."

Paul clutched his glass. "I don't believe it."

"Okay, so if you can move things and I can see the future, then Parker can freeze time." The excitement had returned to Philip's voice.

Paul barely listened. He turned up his glass and chugged the rest of his beer. First, his career crumbled around his feet and now this. Then he remembered the shaking desk in his office and the slamming door when he left. What the hell happened to his perfectly normal life? He slammed the glass onto the wooden surface.

"Paul, you okay?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm not okay. You turned me into a witch."

Philip held up both hands in surrender. "You were born one, man. We all were."

Paul downed another beer. A witch. He, Parker, and Philip were witches. Had Gramps been a witch? Had their father been one, too? He tried to wrap his mind around the idea. He barely listened as Philip droned on about magic and spells and the ancestor he had found in the book. None of this made sense. It couldn't make sense. It couldn't even be real.

Paul leaned towards the bartender to order another beer. He felt Philip grab his shoulder.

"Um, Paul, I can't drive your car, and I think my prescription is ready," he said.

Paul heaved a sigh and waved away the bartender. Philip was right. He would get them home, and then he would get smashed. Standing up, he dropped the money for the drinks on the table. Then he and Philip sauntered out onto the street.

"Paul, there's something else I need to tell you about our abilities," Philip said as they started down the street. Paul raised an eyebrow, something in his brother's voice made him pay attention. Philip cleared his throat and continued. "When I was looking through the Book Of Shadows, I saw these wood carvings. They looked like something out of a Bosch painting. All these terrifying images of three men battling different incarnations of evil."

"Evil fighting evil. That's a twist," Paul muttered.

"Actually, a witch can be either good or evil. A good witch follows the Wiccan Rede. 'An it harm none, do what ye will.' A bad witch or a warlock has but one goal: to kill good witches and retain their powers. Unfortunately, they look like regular people. They could be anyone, anywhere."

Paul stopped and looked his brother in the eyes. "What does this have to do with us?" he asked with a sigh.

Philip shifted from foot to foot, cradling his broken arm. "Well, in the first wood carving, they were in the slumber, but in the second one, they were battling some kind of warlock. I think as long as we were in the dark about our powers we were safe. Not anymore."

Paul felt a pull in his gut, as if someone had punched him. He gaped at Philip. "You waited to spring this on me now? After you apparently gave us powers?" He spotted the door to the drug store and marched to it. Swinging it open, he strode to the medicine aisle. Aspirin. He needed aspirin. He could already feel pain building in the center of his forehead.

Magic was one thing. Throwing in evil monsters out to kill him was something completely different.

It was turning out to be the worst day of his life. No. No. He was going to get drunk tonight, pass out, and discover none of this had ever happened. Paul nodded firmly. Yeah, the entire day would only be a nasty nightmare.

He scanned the aisles, seeing every kind of medicine but aspirin. Frustrated, he turned to the pharmacy counter and saw Philip talking to the clerk. He turned back to the aisle. Where was the damn headache medicine? A few second later, he heard someone walk up behind him.

"You okay, Paul?" He narrowed his eyes at Philip.

"Headache," he growled. He turned back to the shelves. "Do you see the aspirin anywhere?"

"You know, I dated a girl in New York who swore camomile tea was good for headaches," Philip said cheerily.

Paul hoped his abilities didn't include heat vision, otherwise the shelf he was staring at would be in flames.

Philip continued, completely oblivious to Paul's mood. "You know, I'm not afraid of our powers. Everyone inherits something from their family, right?"

Paul rounded on him. "Yeah, money, antiques, a strong disposition. That's what normal people inherit."

"Come on, man. Who wants to be normal when we can be special?"

The fingers of Paul's right hand curled into a fist. His life was spinning out of control, and Philip was perfectly happy with this. And he still couldn't see any aspirin. He could see every other headache medicine known to man but the damn aspirin.

"Man, it's not that bad," Philip said.

Paul looked at the ceiling, his jaw clenched. "Look." He rounded on Philip again. "I have just found out that I'm a witch, that my brothers are witches, and that we have powers that will apparently unleash all forms of evil." He took a menacing step towards Philip. "Evil that is apparently going to come looking for us." Another step. Philip stood his ground. "So excuse me, Phil, but I'm not exactly in a homeopathic mood right now."

Philip puffed out his chest. "Then move the headache out of your mind."

Paul narrowed his eyes as he felt his anger burst wide open. A bottle of aspirin flew off the shelf and right by Philip's head. Paul caught it reflexively and stared at the bottle lying in his palm.

"Dude, you move things when you're pissed," Philip stated.

Paul's head shot up. "That's ridiculous."

"Don't believe me?" Philip's eyebrows lifted in challenge. A smirk spread across his face. "Rhon-da."

Three more bottles of aspirin sprang into the air. They landed with a clatter at Paul's feet.

Philip's smirk turned into a genuine smile as he took in the collection in the floor. "That is so awesome!" He looked up. "How come you got one of the cool powers?" He leaned back against the shelf behind him. "Now let's talk about Mom and see what happens."

Paul clenched his teeth again. "She's dead," he ground out.

Philip shook his head. "Nope. She's not in New York anymore, but she's very much alive."

Paul's eyes darkened at the mention of Victoria Bennett Halliwell. "She died the day she walked out on Dad."

He could still see her face as clearly as he had the day she left. Her dark eyes focused solemnly on Paul as she clutched her suitcase.

"Vicki, don't do this. We can work it out," he remembered his father say.

Victoria didn't answer. She only held her head high and turned the doorknob. "Good-bye, Peter." With that, she walked out of her sons' lives forever.

Philip's voice brought Paul back to the present. "What are you talking about? She's always been a major button pusher for you. You're mad she's alive, you're mad I tried to find her, and you're mad I came back. Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom, Mom."

Paul couldn't control it. An explosion built up inside of him, and he knew he had to let it out. He concentrated on the shelf behind Philip. All the bottles flew into the air at once. Philip ducked as they landed with a crash in the center of the aisle. Paul widened his eyes. Suddenly, his anger and his headache were gone. He felt calm for the first time since he picked Philip up.

Philip stood, his eyes wide. His mouth dropped open as he surveyed the damage. "Feel better?" he asked.

Paul smiled. "Yeah, actually."

"The book said our powers would grow."

Paul took in all the mess he had made. "Grow to what?"

"Good question," Philip answered.

The two men sauntered back to the counter and picked up Philip's prescription. Paul explained to the clerk that the shelf holding the headache medicine had fallen, leaving the bottles spread all over the aisle. She didn't answer, but he saw her shoulders slump.

As they walked back to his car, Paul's good mood was dampened by a sudden thought. "Oh, no."

Philip stopped short. "What? What's wrong?"

Paul met his baby brother's eyes. "Parker. You know how hard it was for him to fit in in high school. He's not going to deal with this news well."

"Oh, man. You're right. How do we tell him?"

"I don't know. I just hope he's already found out."


	4. Chapter 4

Part Three – Parker

Parker tightened his grip on the steering wheel, his eyes taking in the building before him. This was it. He was going to prove he could be a chef once and for all. He had to get this job; there was no other choice. His stomach flipped nervously as he remembered his last job interview. The executive chef had taken one look at his resume and scoffed.

"You are a bank teller! You have no training!" he had exclaimed.

Parker had shifted uncomfortably. "Well, no, I didn't get a chance to go to culinary school. But I can do this. Give me a chance."

The Wolfgang Puck wannabe only shook his head and tossed the resume across the desk. He dismissed Parker with a wave of his hand. Parker didn't see the use in fighting. He simply picked up his resume and left, his shoulders slumping.

He had a good feeling about Quake, though. Chef Moore promised he could cook his audition recipe, regardless of what it said on his resume. Yes, sir, once Moore tasted his food, Parker would be a bank teller no more.

All he had to do was get out of the car.

"Okay, here goes nothing," he sighed. Mustering his confidence, Parker opened the jeep's door. He lifted his bag of ingredients from the passenger seat and climbed out. Taking a steadying breath, he closed the door and started towards the trendy restaurant.

Chef Moore raised an eyebrow when Parker entered the kitchen.

"You are late," he said, his words thick with a French accent.

"I'm sorry, Chef. It won't happen again." Parker winced as he peered at the clock. He was only five minutes late – not too bad. If only he hadn't stayed at home long enough to listen to Philip ramble on about witchcraft and being something called The Charmed Ones. But Philip had taken it all so seriously, and Parker didn't want to hurt his feelings. Paul was right. Sometimes Parker was too soft for his own good.

Pushing all thoughts of his family out of his mind, Parker washed up and changed into the chef uniform Moore had provided. Moore announced he had exactly thirty minutes to "wow" him and promptly left the kitchen. Parker went to work.

Parker forgot about everything as he started to cook. He was in the kitchen, and that's all that mattered. He followed his recipe to the letter. No variations until he had the job. He mixed and stirred and lost track of all time. It wasn't until he heard someone clap behind him that he realized Moore had returned.

"Your time is up," he said, his French accent thick. "Let's see." He picked up the index card on the counter. "Roast pork with gratin of fennel and penne with a port giblet sauce." He eyed Parker, clearly believing the dish wouldn't be any good at all.

Parker nearly dropped the bottle of port wine and the measuring cup he was holding. "Uh, Chef Moore...?" he began.

Moore picked up a fork and speared a piece of roast. "What?"

Parker set down the port and the measuring cup. "Uh, the port..."

Moore waved him away. "Yes, without the sauce it is nothing more than a salty marinara. A recipe from a woman's magazine. Puh!" He prepared to take a bite.

No! No! This couldn't be happening! Parker could see his dreams going up in smoke before his eyes. He had to stop him. "But, Chef Moore, I didn't have time..." In panic, Parker threw up his hands.

Moore stopped moving, the forkful of food near his mouth. Parker relaxed a little. Maybe he'd be able to add the port. But something was wrong. Chef Moore wasn't moving at all. He wasn't even breathing. Parker's moment of relief quickly passed. He waved his hand in front of Moore's eyes. No response.

"Chef Moore?" Nothing.

Deciding not to waste this strange twist of fate, Parker grabbed a baster and filled it with port. He then dribbled some on Moore's forkful. The minute he stepped back, Moore unfroze and stuffed the bite into his mouth.

Moore smiled. "This is very good. C'est magnifique!"

Parker breathed a sigh of relief. His chance may have been saved, but he was going to have to talk to Philip. He didn't know what had happened, but something told him he was the cause of it. And Parker wanted to know why.

As soon as Parker reached his car, he whipped out his cell phone. The other end rang and rang and rang. Philip was either ignoring the phone or not there. Parker scowled. 'Probably out messing with his bike,' he thought. After five rings Paul's deep voice announced no one was home. Then came the beep.

"Philip, if you're home, pick up. I've got something to ask you." He waited a beat. "Okay, guess you're not there. Call me back when you get this, man. You've got some explaining to do." He rattled off his cell phone number, then flipped it closed.

Parker dropped his phone back into his pocket and sighed. He leaned against his jeep and buried his head in his hands. What was happening to him? Did weird things happen to his brothers? Was there really something to that spell Philip read? Had he really stopped time?

"Penny for your thoughts."

Parker's head snapped up. He relaxed the moment he saw the beautiful woman standing in front of him. "Jenny." He pulled her into a hug. "Man, am I glad to see you."

She looked up at him. "Bad day?"

"Let's just say it's been a little weird." He moved a lock of her long, brown hair out of her eyes. "What are you doing here anyway?"

Jenny stepped back and took his hand. "I have a surprise for you. A little celebration for you getting the job."

"But I don't know if I've gotten the job yet."

"Then let's call it a pre-celebration." She tugged on his hand. "Come on. I'll let you drive."

Parker laughed. "That's only because you don't have a car." He walked her around to the passenger side and opened the door. "All right, you navigate."

Jenny hopped in. "I'd be glad to."

Parker closed the door. He then climbed in on his own side. 'I'm not going to worry about Philip or that spellbook. Not now when I get a moment of normal life,' he decided as he cranked the car and pulled out of the parking lot.

"Are you sure this is the place?" Parker peered at the run-down warehouse through his windshield. The building was abandoned and looked like it was falling apart. Windows were broken out. Pieces of the wall were damaged.

"Trust me, honey. Everything is set up inside," Jenny said as she stepped out of the jeep.

"Okay." The place gave Parker a bad feeling, but he didn't want Jenny to think he was weak. It wasn't every day he had a beautiful woman who wanted to surprise him.

He got out of the jeep, locked the doors, and took Jenny's hand. They walked into the decrepit building and into the large elevator in the center. Jenny lowered the gate. She then pressed the up button.

She grinned at him, her eyes glittering. "You're going to love this. You might even brag about it to Paul and Philip."

Parker wrinkled his brow in confusion. "I never mentioned Philip came home."

"Oh." Jenny was the picture of innocence. "Oops." A double-edged knife materialized in her hand. She took a step towards him.

Parker took a step back. "What's that?"

"Your surprise, baby." Jenny's grin spread wider. "I've waited six months for this. Ever since Gramps went to the hospital. I've known for quite some time that the moment that old witch croaked all your powers would be released. Powers that would reveal themselves as soon as the three of you got together again. All that was needed was for Philip to return."

She was crazy. Parker's girlfriend was a raving loon. He remembered the news reports. The bodies found on the altars. "You killed all those people, didn't you?" He tried to remain calm. After all, she was a small thing. Maybe he could overpower her and get the knife.

"Not people. Witches."

Parker kept his eyes on the knife. "Why?"

Jenny raised her hand and flames appeared on her finger tips. "It was the only way to get their powers." Within a split second, her face transformed into that of a monster. "And now I want yours!" she growled in a demonic voice.

She lunged. Parker reacted and threw up his hands. Like Chef Moore, Jenny froze in place. Her face held the ugly mask. Her hand gripping the knife, poised to strike.

Parker didn't intend to stick around to see how long her frozen state would last. He searched the elevator until he saw the opening above him. The elevator had stopped between two floors. He jumped for it, his hands gripping the edge. He then pulled himself through the opening. He wasn't quick enough.

The elevator immediately moved, and a hand, stronger than he had anticipated, grabbed his ankle. He kicked as hard as he could. The hand released its grasp and he heard a sickening thud behind him.

Parker climbed onto the floor. He then pushed to his feet and ran as fast as he could. There had to be a staircase somewhere. He glanced back, but couldn't see Jenny at all.

God, Jenny. His girlfriend. She was supposed to be the one, and instead, she turned out to be a monster. He couldn't wrap his mind around it, but it was true. She had tried to kill him. She may even try to kill his brothers. Parker found the staircase and flew down them. He had to get home. He had to warn Paul and Philip.

Parker didn't care it had started to rain. He floored the gas pedal, praying his brothers would be home once he got there. He soared through lights and cut corners a little too closely. He didn't dare breath until he reached his street and saw Paul's car sitting in the driveway.

"Thank God." He swung in right behind him.

Once parked, Parker burst into the house. He immediately shut the door and double-locked it behind him.

"Park, what are you doing?"

Parker turned to see Paul and Philip standing in the foyer. He guessed they must have arrived right before he did.

"Philip! That book of yours. Does it say how to get rid of a monster?"

Philip's brown eyes widened. "Dude, are you serious? What kind of monster?"

"One that goes around stealing witches' powers?"

"Whoa! What the hell are you talking about?" Paul asked, worry written on his face.

"A warlock. He's talking about a warlock." Philip started for the stairs.

"What? Parker, what happened?"

Parker pushed Paul in the direction of the stairs. He told his brothers the whole story as they climbed the stairs to the attic. By the time they reached the landing, Paul had his cell phone out.

"I'm calling the cops," he announced.

"And tell them what? That we're witches? That some tiny, five-foot-four freak with powers is trying to kill us?" Parker answered. 'Aw, man, what happened to my nice, orderly world?' he wondered.

Philip ran into the attic and pulled the Book of Shadows out of the trunk. He set it on a pedestal near the large bay windows. He opened it and flipped through the pages. He stopped when he found something.

"I think I've found the answer," he said as he held the book out to his brothers.

Parker's mouth dropped open when he saw the page. "A spell?" He looked at Philip. "You're serious?"

"You got a better idea?"

Before he knew it, he, Paul, and Philip were sitting around a cauldron with nine candles surrounding it. He held a poppet in one hand and a rose in the other. He'd never felt stupider in his life. A psychokiller was trying to kill him and here he was casting a spell. Now, he really, REALLY missed his normal life.

"Here goes nothing," he said. He placed the rose on top of the poppet. "Your love will wither and depart, from my life and my heart, let me be, Jenny, and go away forever." He pressed the rose into the poppet's chest and tossed it into the cauldron. "Okay, the spell's complete."

"Let's hope it works," Paul said.

Within minutes, a small explosion erupted from the cauldron and fire enveloped the poppet and the rose.

Parker looked from Philip to Paul. "Is that it?"

"I guess so," Philip answered. He reached out to pick up the cauldron. The minute his hands touched it, his body jerked and his eyes closed.

Paul moved towards him. "Philip!"

Philip's eyes snapped open. "It's not over. She's coming and she's pissed."

"How do you know that?" Parker asked.

"Vision," Philip simply said.

"Vision? You get visions?" Parker looked to Paul for support.

His older brother shrugged. "Philip gets visions. I move things with my mind. You?"

"Freeze time. What the hell happened to us?"

Philip was on his feet and running for the door. "Guys, now's not the time. Remember, crazy warlock bitch wanting to kill us. Ring any bells?" He raced out of the attic with Paul and Parker on his heels.

All three made it downstairs, but they didn't get any farther than the foyer. No sooner had their feet touched the bottom step than the front door exploded. Jenny stood in the rain, thorns covering her skin and the knife raised above her head. Anger radiated from her.

"Gentlemen," she said.

Paul stepped forward, planting himself between his brothers and Jenny. "Parker, Philip, get out of here."

"No way," Philip said.

Parker nodded. "We're not leaving you."

Paul didn't have time to argue. Jenny ran towards him. Parker couldn't see what his brother did, but Jenny all of a sudden flew back against the wall. It didn't phase her in the least. She was back on her feet in seconds.

"Cool parlor trick, bastard. You were always the tough one, weren't you, Paul?" she hissed.

Paul took a step back. Parker and Philip moved closer. Jenny advanced on them, and Paul sent her flying back against the wall.

"What now, Phil?" Paul asked. "I can't keep throwing her back."

Parker looked at his baby brother to see his eyes light up. "The spirit board, man. Remember the inscription on the back?" Philip gripped Paul's right shoulder.

"The power of three will set us free," Paul said.

Philip glanced over at Parker. He indicated his hand, and Parker mirrored him, grabbing Paul's left shoulder. "We've got to say it together," Philip said.

At that moment a ring of fire surrounded the brothers. There was no time to argue now. As one, the three of them chanted the inscription over and over. All of a sudden, a whirlwind surrounded them, destroying the ring of fire. The more they chanted, the faster it became. Jenny screamed.

"I am not the only one! I am one of millions! In places you can't even imagine! In forms you would never believe!" Her voice hit a frenzied pitch. "We are hell on Earth!"

The three men chanted louder, never once losing the rhythm. Jenny screamed once again. She then exploded and disappeared.

Paul, Parker, and Philip stopped chanting. The wind died down and disappeared, leaving a mess in its wake. Philip and Parker released their hold on Paul.

"The power of three," Paul said.

It was over. Jenny was gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Epilogue - Andrea and Paul

This was crazy. Absolutely crazy. She shouldn't be driving down Prescott Street, searching for Paul's house. She had a million other things to do. Grocery shopping, laundry, finding a serial killer. Yet, there she was parking in front of the Halliwell house. She almost started the car again when Paul walked out to the porch and grabbed the paper.

Andrea took a deep breath and climbed out. "Good morning!" she called.

Paul lifted his head and smiled. God, his smile still made her weak in the knees. "Hey, this is a surprise."

"Well, I was in the neighborhood, you know," Andrea said as she walked to the porch. She winced the moment the words were out of her mouth. How lame! Paul met her at the bottom of the steps.

"Nice of you to stop by."

A moment of awkward silence passed between them. Andrea ran a nervous hand through her brown hair. She bit her bottom lip. 'Now or never, Trudeau,' she thought.

"Okay, so I wasn't just in the neighborhood." She met his green eyes. "Actually, I wanted to know if you wanted to get a good cup of coffee."

Paul's eyebrows rose in surprise. "Are you asking me out?"

"Yes, yes, I am. Unless you're afraid to go out with me."

Paul tucked the paper under his arm. "Afraid?"

Andrea put her hands on her hips. "Is there an echo out here? You know, afraid of old memories. Maybe rekindling the old flame?"

"I don't know." Paul scratched his chin. "I'll have to think about it. Can I call you?"

Andrea's bravado deflated, but she refused to let it show. She was going to give him the benefit of the doubt. He might have a good reason. She pulled out one of her business cards and gave it to him.

"Well, I guess I'll go. Take care, Paul." She turned and headed back to her car.

"Bye, Andi."

Paul watched her drive away. He pushed back the urge to run after her car and tell her he had changed his mind. With his new life as a witch, he wasn't sure it would be safe to date her. He couldn't bear the thought of something like Jenny hurting Andrea to get to him.

As he headed back up the stairs, he saw the front door open. Parker and Philip walked onto the porch.

"I thought I heard a woman's voice," Philip said. "Who was that?"

"Andi Trudeau."

"Your old girlfriend from high school?" Parker asked.

Paul reached the top of the porch. "Yeah, she asked me out."

"You said yes, right?" Philip asked.

Paul shook his head. "No. I don't want to take a chance. Not until I learn how to handle being a witch." He looked out across the neighborhood. "You know, from here on out, everything will be different."

"At least our lives won't be boring," Philip replied.

Paul regarded his younger brother. "But they'll never be the same."

Philip leaned against a column. "And this is a bad thing?"

"Paul's right," Parker spoke up. He hooked his thumbs in his pockets. "What are we gonna do?"

Paul looked from one brother to the other. As far as he was concerned, their lives were still his responsibility. Nothing, not even a monster, was going to get near them if he had anything to say about it.

"We're going to be careful, we're going to be wise, and we're going to stick together," he answered.

"This should be interesting," Parker replied. He then headed back into the house.

Philip followed behind him, and Paul strolled in after him. Once inside, Paul started to reach for the doorknob. Then he stopped. Looking up at the door, he narrowed his eyes. The door closed on its own.

Parker was right. Life was definitely going to be interesting.

THE END


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